


This was a fucking nightmare.

by Frost-Sama-Senpai-San (BoyWonderful)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bodyswap, M/M, bodyswap au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:51:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8556154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoyWonderful/pseuds/Frost-Sama-Senpai-San
Summary: Okay, this is literally a fic for the bodyswap AU where Kenma is in Oikawa's body, Oikawa is in Akaashi's body, and Akaashi is in Kenma's body.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, like, IDK where the original au post is, but if you have it, please comment it and I'll link it.
> 
> EDIT: Here is the original post!! 
> 
> http://avahdraws.tumblr.com/post/153038080456/switching-setters-recap-continuation-under-the

Kenma Kozume’s waking was slow and difficult. 

It took him quite a while to get from awareness to alertness. He remembered a small smile, and warmth of muscles under him. He let out a small, pleased groan before pressing closer against them. He reached up to take the arm already around him, intertwining his dainty hands with the larger, callused ones. His smile only grew as he felt an absent-minded kiss on his head. The dork had a way of getting him to smile more often than he would have liked. He pressed his ear against the other’s chest, just taking solace in the beating of his heart. It was warm and comfortable and everything he could have ever wanted. 

That all happened before he was actually awake. 

Kenma stayed like that, just floating in the warmth of the morning for an indefinite amount of time. He let out a gentle sigh, eyes fluttering open. That smile still on his face as he was met with the gentle glow of projected stars. They twirled delicately on his ceiling and walls. They were pretty, almost as if he were floating in the night sky with his boyfriend. Kenma shifted, rolling onto his back to just watch the light show. He brought the hand now resting on his shoulder to his lips, pressing the tenderest of kisses to one of Kuroo’s knuckles. It was strange. His hand was slightly larger than Kenma remembered, or, at the very least, more muscular and less spindly. 

His mind was brought back to the stars. When the hell did he project stars in his room?

He sat up, taking in the unfamiliar surrounding, the numbing haze of sleep clearing in a snap. He blinked, then rubbed his eyes, trying to force the picture of his new surroundings away. Ice-cold bile started its ascent along his throat. He turned, hand outstretched to wake Kuroo. That’s when the bile actually froze, creating a lump in his throat. 

Kenma was faced with a man he had only seen fleetingly on the other side of a net, slamming volleyballs that whizzed past his head. He looked down at none other than the Aoba Josai ace, eyes taking in his bare chest, his relaxed face, and, most of all, the hand he had kissed. 

Familiar anxiety pooled in Kenma’s stomach. He reflexively reached up to take a lock of his dyed hair, only to stall when said hair was far shorter than he expected. He reached his other hand up, pressing his fingers into the choppy spikes, still stiff from old hair gel. He could feel his breath coming in shorter gasps, all the warmth from his first waking replaced with the tundric cooling of his blood. The stars continued to spin on the walls, making him dizzy, nauseous. He, himself, felt like a star, spinning beyond his control. He shut his eyes, trying to pull his head back into stationary correctness. It was useless, as he could see the imprint of spinning lights on his eyelids. 

He got up, throwing the thick covers off his body. The night sky night light allowed him enough light to see the room. It was painted a soft beige, rather plainly decorated, save for a shelf which held a plaque or two, and a large stuffed alien. Adjacent to said shelf was a desk, adorned with a laptop and a few notebooks. Next to the bed was a nightstand, which displayed an alarm clock (3:16), and the projector that was currently rotating slowly. A volleyball lazed near the door, just under a light aqua and white jersey, hung like a badge of honor with a large “1” emblazoned on it. The entire room was spotless, discounting the bedspread that now splayed across the floor. Everything, Kenma noted, confirmed that he was in neither his, nor Kuroo’s, nor even Akaashi’s bedroom. He was in a completely new place with the wing spiker from Aoba Josai whose name he couldn’t even remember. 

Kenma spun, trying to find something to orient himself. He spied a long mirror that hung limply against a door. He immediately seized towards it, suddenly curious of his own state. He had to bite back a scream. 

He was tall, the most disorienting part, and had dark hair, short and slightly sleep mussed. He leaned forward, gazing directly into his golden eyes, large and frightened. He pulled back, examining himself. He had a fair amount of muscle that was covered by a thin t-shirt and blue pajama pants that had little UFO’s on them. He distantly wondered about all the space paraphernalia. If he wasn’t convinced by his newfound appearance, the obsession further told him he was in a weird spot.

He blinked, long, awkward limbs coming up to rub his miscolored eyes, trying once again to force the new images away. Kenma’s rubbings did absolutely nothing to change the situation he was in. What made it worse, though, was the shifting of sheets and fabric from behind him. 

A gruff voice echoed throughout the room, roughened by sleep, “Tooru,” more fabric shifted, and Kenma could see the rising figure in the mirror. The other man brought an arm up to his eyes, trying to wipe the bleariness from them. He let out a grunt, seemingly annoyed at having been woken. “What are you doing?” 

Kenma almost rolled his eyes, as if it were obvious that he were having an existential crisis and the other was being extremely rude in waking up and having the audacity to ask him what he was doing. He stayed silent, still trying to wrap his head around what was going on. He continued to examine the image of himself in the mirror before him. 

The other man was not appeased by his lack of response, and, with a loud sigh and a lot of movement, forced himself to his feet. Kenma watched in near horror as he walked to him and wrapped his arms around him. Kenma shut his eyes, feeling warm, thick muscle make its way around his figure. He opened them again, just in time to watch the other put his chin on his shoulder. 

Iwaizumi sighed, “Seriously, Tooru, what’s up?” He pressed a kiss to his jaw, hands pressing under his boyfriend’s shirt, mostly to feel the warm, lithe skin underneath. He let out a long breath, content at being so close to him. If Oikawa were ever to push the subject though, he would deny it. There was no way he’d let that smug dickbag know just how much he enjoyed being with him. 

To Kenma, this was a fucking nightmare. He hadn’t been anywhere near expecting hands to travel up his chest, replacing the soft cotton of his shirt with calloused hands, nearly too hot to be skin. He shivered, equal parts reflex and pure terror. The kisses at his jaw raised goosebumps, and that helped exactly negative a billion. He spun, facing away from the mirror and pressing himself against the other’s chest. He put both hands over each of the man’s pectoral muscles and pushed, hard. He had quite a bit more muscle than he expected. The warm arms around him disappeared. 

Iwaizumi was taken off guard, as evidenced by him stumbling over his own feet like a fucking moron and falling back into a sit on the bed. He looked up, incredulous, at Oikawa, his lips parted slightly. He quickly closed them, blinking. He looked to the side, trying to collect his thoughts, before just shaking his head, gaze going back to Tooru’s. He was very eloquent in his next question, “What the hell?!” 

Kenma realized who he was. He was Oikawa Tooru, the captain of the Aoba Josai team, the guy with the amazing serve that Kuroo always complained about. He made the quick conclusion, based on the numbering of the jersey, that they were in Oikawa’s room, which gave him the authority to command, “Get out.” Kenma’s, as Oikawa’s, voice was too loud, too strong, and it gave a rather venomous bite, far more so than Kenma had anticipated. The fierce tone looked like a smack to the face of the other. 

Iwaizumi stood, mouth opening and closing as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He reached forward, taking Oikawa’s face in his hands. He had never actually yelled at him like that before. He had always known Tooru to be far more passive whenever he was in a mood. He decided to tread carefully. “Tooru,” his throat flexed over the words, “What’s wrong?” It was genuine concern that edged his voice. 

Kenma actually flinched away from the hands on his face. He felt a sudden pang of guilt like an electric shock. The hurt in the other’s eyes was palpable. If this was actually happening, if he was actually in Oikawa Tooru’s body, then he had no right to destroy what obviously was a romantic relationship. He averted his gaze, letting out a long breath. He tried to come up with something vague, something that would allow him to be alone without alerting the other to his condition. He looked back into large, concerned brown eyes. It made sense how someone would enjoy looking into them. He tried a soft tone, unused to this voice. “I just... I’m feeling sick. I don’t want anyone near me right now.” 

Iwaizumi just watched him, eyes trained on every subtle movement of Oikawa’s face. He saw every twitch of muscle, every thought that passed through his eyes. He had been with him far too long to not know he kept things to himself. It made sense, him being sick. He had been overworking himself far too hard lately, and he would undoubtedly be worried about passing a sickness to Iwazumi. ‘After all,’ he would say, smiling, ‘What would we do without our ace?’ So, Iwaizumi nodded, just letting go of the other. He breathed out a small, almost relieved, “Okay,” before turning to collect his things. He repeated it, pulling a shirt over his head. 

Iwaizumi lugged a bag over his shoulder, offering Oikawa a small smile. He wrapped an arm around him, pulling him into his chest. He hated how the other eclipsed him in height, especially because he had to rise onto his toes to kiss his head. Still, he managed it. His voice was soft, tender, “Take care of yourself, Dumbass.” It was endearing, not holding any venom behind what one would expect of a real insult. 

Kenma had to restrain a smile, and a soft, ‘You too.’ Oikawa’s boyfriend kinda reminded him of himself mixed with the cheesiness of Kuroo. He found it incredibly endearing. 

After his well-wishes, Iwaizumi left the room, leaving behind only the shape of his head in the pillow to even suggest he had been there. 

As soon as he was alone, Kenma broke down into ugly sobs, feeling the barbs of a panic attack seep into his bones.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully they'll get longer as the actual plot comes into play.

He couldn’t breathe. 

Like, he literally couldn’t breathe. 

Oikawa Toruu found himself cut off from oxygen, mainly because his nose and mouth were pressed rather firmly against sweaty, musty skin. He yanked his head back, freeing his face from the hell in which he had awoken. He maneuvered around, equal parts pulling and shoving heavy muscle off of his body to be free of the other’s grip. If it weren’t for the insistent lead in his limbs, Oikawa would have just pushed Iwaizumi right off the bed, but, alas, he was far too tired for that. Instead, he just rolled onto his side, back facing the other as he curled up in his blankets. He let out a long breath, settling back in for another attempt at sleep. 

He was almost there too, when large, hot arms found their way back around him. 

Oikawa sighed, shifting again, keeping his eyes tightly shut in a stubborn attempt to actually get back to dreamland. Either Iwaizumi was awake and teasing him, or he was being an uncharacteristically hyper sleeper. He knew it was the former. Normally, he wouldn’t mind it, but Oikawa had literally just escaped his boyfriend’s smelly body, and he was none too eager to rejoin its ranks. 

Still, he wasn’t heartless, shifting in the other’s arms, turning to face him. He pressed a light, feathery kiss to Iwaizumi’s lips, just mumbling. “You’re all sweaty,” he teased, “It’s gross.” 

In return, Oikawa received another kiss, far sleepier than his own had been, and a smile pressed against his lips. Iwaizumi shifted a bit, all warmth and blissful joy of half-sleep as he muttered with the purest, most unbridled love Oikawa Toruu had ever heard, “My Beau-hoot-iful Keiji.” 

It was the pun that had Toruu’s eyes fluttering open. He actually intended to shove Iwaizumi off the bed just for that crime alone; however, his train of thought came to a studdering halt as he was met with a tumbleweed of black and white hair. 

No fucking way. 

Oikawa brought his hand up, finger tips ghosting over his lips, feeling the remnants of a kiss he had just shared with a man he knew very little about and was decidedly not his boyfriend. He fought out of the other’s grip again, leg going behind him to allow him complete freedom from the bed. He stood, earning a small grumble in response. 

Bokuto’s eyes fluttered open, huge and bleary, bright and loving, “Aka-chan,” he smiled, limply reaching up towards the other. His eyes slipped shut again, hand falling none too gently back on his chest. He rolled over, letting out an extremely unattractive snore as he fell back into the soft quilts of sleep. 

Oikawa was certain he was losing his mind. 

The room he now found himself in was a total disaster, nothing like the immaculate beauty in which he lived. Everywhere Oikawa looked there was another piece of owl something, like the kid had a real fucking obsession. The place itself was moderately sized, though it looked smaller, cluttered with knick-knacks and junk. There were mountains of clothes all over the floor, joined in part by streams of trash, and- was that? 

Oikawa shuddered, trying not to lose his dinner right there. 

It was a used condom. 

Oikawa found himself panicking, not recalling having given any kind of consent to any variations of a single sexual activity, but the dull ache in his back had all but confirmed that something had happened. Something had happened with fucking Bokuto Koutaro of all people, the guy with his face plastered all over more than half of the volleyball magazines in the country, and he had no actual clue what it was. 

Thoughts of druggings and threats raced through his mind, and he could feel his throat constricting. Every breath seemed to rattle just a bit, seemed more compressed. He reached up, hands grasping at himself, trying to open the airways. 

Still, he pressed forward, eyes tracing every dark corner, every bump in the shadowed walls. He had always bragged about managing to function in difficult situations, and he wasn’t about to prove himself wrong here. He caught on a small filter of light slipping in from under a door. He took the quickest, cleanest path there, and was out of the room.  
Oikawa blinked the light into his eyes, trying to adjust. He now found himself in a typically decorated hallway: a few ornamental eggs here and there, completely sensible for the aspiring interior decorator, or an overworked mother of two. Random feathers just kinda hung around, some stuck to a vent, some laying in the corners, and some hanging from the light fixtures. What the hell kind of place was this? Oh right, it was hell. 

He spied an ajar door that held a toilet and a shower. He let out a long breath, just stepping into the room, flipping on the switch before shutting the door. His mind was blurry, as if made of ripples in a cloudy pond. He had vague memories of warm, Iwa-chan kisses, and a playful bump on the head or two. Nothing in his head suggesting anything having to do with Bokuto. Still, it might have just been too hazy to make out. 

He turned on the water in the sink, cupping his hands to catch the cool, clear liquid. He then splashed it onto his face, looking up into the mirror as he did. 

He immediately stumbled back, slipping and pressing his back against the bathroom wall. 

Oikawa stared at himself in the mirror, eyes tracing over the near hidden muscle of his neck. He slowly stood, legs shaking as more and more of his upper body came into view. His slender chest was clad in a soft cotton t-shirt that was a bit to long for him. It was a light lilac with a large graphic of owl eyes, and an ‘H’ and a ‘T’ on their respective sides. His arms were exposed, lithe, corded muscle lying dormant under smooth skin. His face held all the features of subtle beauty of which Oikawa had always dreamed. He had dark hair, darker than usual, and heavy-lidded eyes placed precariously above high-cheekbones. He looked down, inspecting the parts he couldn’t see in the mirror. He was naked underneath the shirt, fabric covering just to his upper thighs, thighs that were smooth. His legs were completely hairless, save for a small amount of stubble around his knees and ankles.

Oikawa leaned into the mirror, lips slightly parted as delicate fingers traced the high lines of his face. He let out a breath, hands drifting down over clothed shoulders and finding the warm skin on his arms. Every part of him was soft, save the pressure points on his hands. Those were all calloused, roughened skin caused by years of setting. Those, amongst all the new territory, he found completely familiar. 

A knock at the door had Oikawa stumbling back from the mirror. He kept his gaze squarely on the door, eyes tracing the moving shadow underneath. He looked around, grabbing a towel to give himself more coverage of his lower half. 

“Akaashi.”

It was the same voice from earlier, though far more awake. It held concern instead of warmth. Oikawa shuddered, mind suddenly snapping back to the naked form he had awoken with. 

“Aka-chan, are you feeling sick? I told you not to have that last pork bun,” Bokuto went silent, likely waiting for a response that Oikawa never gave. He started again, “Do you need me to hold your hair? You know I don’t mind that!”

Oikawa’s mind was working its way through molasses. There were two things he understood but didn’t understand. One, he was now in Akaashi Keiji’s body, the setter for Fukurodani, and apparently the sex-friend of Bokuto Koutaro, the main spiker of that same team; and two, said spiker was waiting outside the bathroom door of what was probably his house, and Oikawa was going to have to answer. 

He let out a breath, putting the towel back on the rack as he prepared himself. He leaned forward, opening the door just enough to peek his head out of it. He pouted, gaze meeting striking gold eyes, huge and full of concern. Oikawa almost lost his words right there. Instead, he looked away, taking in a deep breath, “I...I might be awhile,” embarrassing, but it was neither his body, nor his boyfriend, “Could you get my phone for me?” 

Bokuto immediately responded with an energetic nod. He disappeared, then reappeared less than a minute later. Ever the attentive boyfriend, Bokuto had bright him both his phone, and a pair of underwear. He even did the decency of looking away as he handed the items through the door. He turned back, offering a worried frown, “Is there anything else I can do?” 

Oikawa shook his head before muttering a quiet “thank you”. He shut the door again, putting the phone down to pull his underwear up his oddly shaved legs. He then curled up in the empty bathtub and dialed his own number. 

He was shocked to hear his very own familiar voice on the other line, “Um, hello?” 

“Who the hell are you, and why are you in my body?” Oikawa asked in hushed tones, lest Bokuto would hear him. 

“Wait,” the voice on the other side faltered for a moment, then returned with disbelief, “Akaashi?” It switched to relief, “Oh my God, Akaashi. I’m so glad it’s you- wait… why are you calling this number?” 

Oikawa rolled his eyes, frustration building up in his head, “I’m not Akaashi- Okay, well I am but-” he sighed, “Look, you’re obviously in the wrong body too. I’m Oikawa Tooru, the guy who owns that body you’re squatting in.” 

There was a moment of silence before, “I’m… Kozume Kenma.”

Oikawa had no clue where to go from there, so he just sighed, gripping the phone tightly. “Great, awesome, the kitten from Nekoma. I know who you are.” 

“Did you… did you just call me a kitten?” He sounded pretty offended… well, as offended as he could sound.

“Nevermind about that. Where is Iwazumi Hajime? He’s my boyfriend and I need to talk to him. He should be the guy you woke up with.” 

Kenma hesitated for a moment, “I.. uh, sent him away. I told him you- er, I- was sick.” 

Oikawa couldn’t stifle a pained laugh. There was no way this was happening. 

The laugh was a little too loud, as Bokuto called from the hallway, “Keiji? Are you ok?”

Oikawa cursed, just muttering, “Call your body, figure out who’s there. I have to go deal with,” he changed his voice, making it all cutesy, “Boku-chan!” 

Kenma’s reply was a gruff, “He calls him Bokuto-san. Also, ok. I will.” 

Oikawa didn’t even thank Kenma for the hint that he genuinely needed, just hanging up and getting ready to face the idiot boyfriend again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! If you like my writing, check out some of my original stories featuring lgbt+ characters on my blog, right here: http://historonic.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ideally, I'll have one more chapter up before I gotta duck out for finals. Look for one some time next week. If not, then I won't be able to write anything until December 10th or so! But yeah! Take this!! 
> 
> If you'd like to get in touch with me at all, my tumblr is frost-sama-senpai-san, and my snapchat is @boywonderfully. I'm not that cool, but I'm always open for making new buds!!
> 
> Also, thank you so much to everyone who has commented, bookmarked, or kudosed. You really don't know how encouraging your words are to me! IF I don't see you guys again until then, for my American readers, Happy Thanksgiving! And to my nonAmerican readers... uh... Happy Normal Thursday, I guess!!
> 
> EDIT: Yeah, wow. Just noticed how sad this word count is. It's like 90% chance I'll get another one done by finals.

The insistent buzzing was halfway there in its rush to drive Akaashi mad. 

His phone had been vibrating for what felt like hours, but he wasn’t about to answer it, mainly because he was trying to sleep and had a hell of a time trying to function without coffee. He just grunted, spinning in the delightfully fluffy blankets and burying his face into them. He let out a soft sigh, just enjoying the freedom to be had in the dark embrace. He then reminded himself to stop reading Transcendentalist English poets.

Akaashi felt shifting beside him, then noise in the form of a gruff “uggh.” 

Bokuto rolled over, arms going around Akaashi’s waist, long and warm, before pulling him against his chest. He pressed a small kiss to the top of his ear, mumbling through the spiderwebs of drowse, “Your phone is ringing.” 

Akaashi grumbled, he, himself still mostly asleep. He pushed against the arms that pulled him out of his dark oasis, face all scrunched up in distaste. “Answer it.” 

A yawn accompanied the reply, “It’s your phone.” 

Akaashi snorted, still bleary-eyed as he just kinda groped around the nightstand, dexterous fingers nearly knocking down a cup of water before he seized the offending device. He cleared his throat, half sitting up within the parameters of the arms around him. He tried to rub the film from his eyes, yawning out a “Hello?” 

The voice on the other side was timid, almost trembling as it muttered a soft-spoken, “Umm, Kenma?” 

Akaashi narrowed his brows, still trying to get his eyes to see straight. He cocked his head back in annoyance. He was yanked out of his happy place for a wrong number. “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number.” 

He could hear a sigh of relief from the other side, “Please tell me this is Akaashi.” 

His temples were aching, along with the muscles in both of his thumbs. He brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Wait, so you don’t want Kenma? He is my best friend, so I could probably get you his number?”

“No, Akaashi, this is Kenma.” 

“You sure as hell don’t sound like Kenma.” 

By this point, Bokuto had pretty much woken up, and his hands were now snaking their way around Akaashi’s hips, the oddly unfamiliar weight of his head dropping to rest on his hipbone. He yawned again, “Hey, Kitten, who is it?” 

Kitten? Seriously? 

Akaashi turned to look down at Bokuto, only to go rigid at the pointed features of Kuroo’s nose and jaw. He opened his mouth and closed it again, snapping his eyes shut before trying again, disturbed to see Kuroo was still just laying on him. 

“Akaashi?” Kenma begged from the other side of the phone, “Is that Kuroo?” Kenma just breathed through the silence, anxiety mounting with every second that withheld an answer. He tried again, “Akaashi, please answer me,” the desperation was omnipresent in his voice that wasn’t his, “Are you with Kuroo?”

Akaashi was too stunned to answer, hundreds of thoughts running through his brain that suddenly felt too small, too constricted. He wasn’t even confused, just shocked. He had never even thought of Kuroo as attractive, so why the hell would he even bother bedding him? Also? Just ew. 

Kuroo sensed the hesitation, gaze flipping up to Akaashi’s. His green eyes quickly filled with mischief, a look that he often wore. He flipped onto his stomach, allowing the cheshire grin to creep onto his face. “Oh c’mon, Kitten,” he purred, bringing his face up to Akaashi’s, “What’s with that face?” He let a hand glide into the inside of his thigh, “Why don’t you try purring for me?” 

Akaashi was promptly pulled from his frozen shock, declaring his end of frigidity with a palm against the other’s cheek, hard. It was a snap motion, announced by a fairly strong “crack!’

Kuroo’s head whipped to the side, and he kept it there, lips parted, his turn to experience Akaashi’s shock. 

He was silent for a long moment, allowing for another plea from the other side of the phone. 

“Akaashi?! What was that?! What happened?” 

“I just smacked your dumb boyfriend,” Akaashi replied, voice devoid of any emotion as he threw the blankets off his body. He tossed his legs over the side, feet landing on a discarded hand-held console. He, luckily, hadn’t put his weight on it, but it still freaked him out a bit. 

“You what?” Kenma was sitting in the middle of Oikawa’s bed, legs crossed as he rocked back and forth, eyes flittering between pinpoint light meant to represent stars. He felt his heartbeat spike, “Akaashi!” He rolled onto his back, feeling the tears pool in his eyes, “You can’t just do that!” 

“He was coming onto me,” Akaashi mumbled in defense, looking around for his glasses out of habit, before realizing he could actually see. He must have fallen asleep in his contacts. 

“No, you idiot!” Kenma rolled onto his side, pulling too-long limbs up to his chest, trying to keep himself together. Too late for that. “He wasn’t coming onto you! He was,” he choked out a desperate sob, “He was coming onto me.” His voice fell small, frail, so uncharacteristic of the one he was using, “You’re in my body.” 

“Kenma, what the hell are you talking about?” Akaashi stopped, shaking his head. He looked around, trying to find his jacket, only to freeze when he saw that he was in a room he very much recognized. It was painted a light blue, and was absolutely cluttered. There was a lot of stuff on shelves everywhere, but it was all pretty neatly organized. Still, there was a Zelda poster, the exact poster Akaashi had gotten Kenma for his last birthday. He breathed out, “Oh my God.” 

“Kenma,” Kuroo called out to him, having moved to the edge of the bed. 

Akaashi turned, finally understanding what was happening. If he was really in Kenma’s body, then he actually just smacked his own boyfriend. 

Kuroo kept his gaze anywhere but Akaashi’s. His face was flat, as if there were a lot on his mind that he didn’t want to say. He sighed, long torso heaving with movement, “A ‘no’ would have worked.” 

Akaashi was at a loss. If he had done that to Bokuto, the stupid owl-boy would have probably just stared at him with those golden eyes, big and full of hurt. Akaashi would know exactly how to diffuse and fix the situation, but Kuroo was a puzzle he had never had the need to figure out. He kept it close to his chest, hidden beneath the hand-shaped blanching of his masked face. Kuroo just sat there, long black sweatpants mingling in color with the blankets beneath him. He had put his red jacket on. 

Akaashi opened his mouth, feeling like a fish with no swimming capabilities. He shut it again, hanging up the phone to sit gently next to Kuroo. He placed his hand on his shoulder, gently, like he were approaching a pensive feline. He let out a breath, “I’m.. I’m sorry. I just-”

“It’s fine,” Kuroo cut him off, not even giving him a chance to explain. He clearly wasn’t interested in what lie Akaashi was going to feed him. He put an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, slowly and deliberately, giving him plenty of time to push him away. When he realized he wasn’t going to be rejected, Kuroo tightened his grip in a hug, warm lips pressing against Akaashi’s hairline. 

They stayed like that, in that embrace, for what felt like forever, before Kuroo let out a long, baited breath, “I’ll text you, okay?” He pulled away, moving to stand up. 

Akaashi stood with him, hand going out to take Kuroo’s, “Wait!” 

Kuroo pulled it away, though it was with a gentle tug as opposed to a forceful yank. He spoke with more harshness, signalling the end of the conversation. “I’ll text you.” 

With that, Kuroo left, forcing Akaashi to watch the door shut. He saw Kuroo’s form disappear through his blond tunnel vision. 

He pressed the buzzing phone to his ear, mumbling out a meek, fitting for his new voice, “Hello.”

 

The voice from the other side was trembling through sobs, “What the fuck have you done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst, it'd be really cool if you checked out my blog: www.historonic.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I would churn this one out because I love you guys and things haven't really started picking up yet!! Next chapter might get a bit angsty, so here is some cute dorks in a coffee shop.

Akaashi sat across from himself, which was literally the weirdest thing he had ever done. 

He watched himself fuss over a slightly crinkled bottle of water. He put his mouth over the opening to try to blow it back to its original shape. 

Oikawa sighed, having finally settled that stupid plastic. He looked up at Kenma, who was Akaashi, who he was currently. This whole thing had his head spinning. He licked his lips, shutting his eyes to try to think, “So, we’ve all switched around.”

“That’s how it seems,” Akaashi responded to himself. He was having a really hard time trying to sort it all out in his head. Something happened, and that something caused the three of them to switch bodies, and he was currently talking to himself, who was actually Oikawa in his body.

He was struck with a sudden thought that bubbled from his lips before he could stop it, “Keep your hands off my boyfriend.”

Oikawa choked on his water, hand going to his mouth to keep himself from spitting it out. He forced the now uncomfortable lump down his throat, “That’s what you’re worried about??” Oikawa stared at him, trying to find an appropriate response. He settled with a shudder, even making the accompanying noise to further showcase his disgust. “Don’t worry. I don’t want anywhere near that sweaty child.” 

Akaashi rolled his eyes, hand gripping around his nearly empty foam cup. 

They had decided to meet in a coffee shop just outside of Saitama. Akaashi was sure Oikawa would be disoriented by the huge cityscape, so he gave him a break. The poor guy did suddenly just wake up in suburban Tokyo, and that had to be terrifying. At least Akaashi was used to the city. 

Akaashi’s assumptions were incorrect. Oikawa was from Sendai. It wasn’t Tokyo, but it wasn’t the country either. Still, the coffee shop the other picked was rather nice. It was a small, locally owned shop, with a library nextdoor, and they were some of the only customers, occupying a small table with three chairs. Kenma would be joining them eventually. It was a two hour train ride from Oikawa’s apartment. 

“My sweaty child beat out your sweaty child for top five.” Akaashi was losing his temper. It wasn’t his fault. The situation with Kuroo earlier had him in a near constant state of worry. The damned cat hadn’t even texted him if he got home safe or not, and Akaashi was feeling pretty shitty about it.

Oikawa couldn’t help but chuckle. He lounged in his chair, bringing his poor, defenseless water bottle up to his lips for a sip. He smirked, a weird gesture on his stolen lips, “Hajime isn’t my child. He’s more like my-” Oikawa cut himself off, rethinking the parental figure he was about to compare Iwa-chan to. He shook it off, “Nevermind. Speaking of Bokuto, how the hell do I deal with him?” 

It was Akaashi’s turn for an ill fitted smirk. He leaned forward, relaxing some, “Is my child too difficult for you to handle?” 

Oikawa rolled his eyes, leaning forward in turn, “He legitimately acts like a toddler. How do I deal with something like that?? Do I just give in to all his demands, or scold him like his mother?” 

“His mother doesn’t scold him, that’s the problem.” Akaashi leaned back, folding his arms against his chest, “And dear lord do not give into him all the time. He’d get way too fired up and start tearing down the city.” He shook his head, wincing as the sting of blonde hair hit his eyes. He swiped it up behind his ears, shutting his eyes. He was trying to put together how to explain Bokuto to someone else. He was hoping to do it without the embarrassing intimacy. 

Akaashi let out a long breath, “Praise him when he does something good, but not when he begs for it. Scold him when he does something bad, but don’t tear him down.” He paused, breath catching in his throat as his mind flickered to Bokuto. “He’s… so fragile.” He was. His heart could rip in half with minimal effort, and he would happily give it to Akaashi. Bokuto trusted him to protect it, and now this stranger in his body could ruin everything. Bokuto meant so much to him, and Akaashi couldn’t bare to have that taken from him. 

Akaashi reset the conversation, “We have to tell the truth.”

Oikawa was listening, trying to wrap his head around why Akaashi would stay with someone who was so needy. Then again, Oikawa was pretty needy, and Iwaizumi still stayed with them. Some people were a glutton for annoyance. He crushed his water bottle with the next nugget of wisdom, “And risk my scholarships? I don’t think so.” 

Oikawa had so much on the line. For the past few weeks, representatives from different universities had been coming to his games. They were prepared to offer him a large sum of money to go play for their schools. Last week, the only issue had been his knee, but now, there was a different person in his body, a second year, whose team’s only redeeming qualities was its receives. If Kenma were to come clean about him being Kenma and not Oikawa, the colleges would call him crazy, and revoke any chance of him getting the money. At least Kenma was a setter, and Oikawa was damn determined to keep him up to the Aoba Josai standards. 

Akaashi let out a sigh, completely understanding Oikawa’s concerns. If it were him, he’d be the same way. He glanced up to the empty chair before furrowing his eyebrows, “Where is Kenma?”

As if the Gods of coincidence had smiled upon them, Oikawa’s body stumbled in the door. He looked generally uncomfortable, and really unkempt, like he had never seen a hairbrush before in his life. 

Oikawa, in Akaashi’s body, stood, lips parted, eyes wide. He let out a quiet, exasperated sigh before approaching himself. He took his own hand and dragged a distressed Kenma to the bathroom. 

Kenma had had a fucking morning. First, he woke up in a strange bed, then he learned his best friend was in his body, and had smacked his boyfriend, then he had to embark on a two hour train ride on an unfamiliar route, and now, he was being yanked by said best friend into a bathroom. It was needless to say Kenma was not having a good time.

Oikawa pulled Kenma down enough to reach his hair. He expertly ran his fingers through the dark locks until they stood up just right, or, at the very least, presentably. He wasn’t about to let himself look like a total fucking trainwreck. 

Kenma and Oikawa soon rejoined Akaashi at the table. Kenma let out a long breath as he sat before just laying his head down on the table. He was completely exhausted. His eyes stayed half-open as he looked to his own body. At least the guy in it knew what he was doing. Kenma reached out for the coffee cup, hoping Akaashi would love him enough to share. 

Oikawa smacked Kenma’s hand away, face curled in distaste, “We are in the middle of the season. I’m only drinking water and tea.”

Kenma gave up, dropping his head into his arms. He was going back to sleep. This was too much for him. 

Akaashi sighed, just watching the interaction. He knew they were all going to have individual challenges, but this was just ridiculous. He reached forward, tapping Kenma’s shoulder, “I brought you something from your house.”

Kenma looked up, eyes tired. They immediately brightened as he saw the PSP Akaashi was sliding to him. He took it in his hands, fumbling it through his too big fingers. He offered a reserved smile to Akaashi, “If you hadn’t smacked my boyfriend this morning, I would kiss you right now.”

Oikawa let out an audible gasp, “You smacked his boyfriend?” He shook his head, another un-Akaashi smirk coming to his lips, “Damn. I’d be all over that. I hate that scheming cat.”

“Your crippling insecurity would be fitting if you were me, but you’re not, so cut it out,” Kenma muttered, eyes glued to his PSP. The soft glow of the screen was already working wonders on his anxiety. It was like coming home.  
Oikawa fell silent, rather taken aback at the blunt truth of the other’s statement. He looked to Akaashi for guidance. 

Akaashi only offered a shrug, turning his attention back to Kenma. The other was known for his brilliant plans and strategy. He put a gentle hand over the PSP screen, nonverbally telling Kenma that he wanted his full focus. “How do you think we should go about this?” 

Kenma looked up, watching the genuine concern fall over his face. He sighed, putting the console down, “I think we should just tell them the truth. At the very least, our respective boyfriends.” He turned to Oikawa, “Iwazumi-san genuinely cares about you. He’d want you to tell him.” 

Oikawa let out a defeated sigh, slipping down in his chair. He turned his head to the suddenly extremely interesting poster on the wall. He crossed his arms, “If you agree to do some practices with me, I’ll tell Bokuto that I’m not Akaashi.” 

A snort ripped from Akaashi’s throat before he could bite it down. He shook his head, “No. If anyone is telling him, it will be me. He won’t believe you if you do it.” 

Oikawa flipped back, scoffing. He gestured to a game-focused Kenma, “What? You think the fucking feline would even let my body within ten feet of him? Kuroo hates me.” 

Kenma’s attention fluttered back up, brain taking a delayed moment to soak in the argument. He remained straight-faced, “We will all three tell them together.” 

Akaashi took a moment, mulling over the thought of it. He sighed, deciding that was probably the best plan any of them were going to come up with. “Fine, but we should all tell them at the same time.” 

Oikawa reached forward, taking Kenma’s phone from the table. He let out a little smirk as he examined it, “Looks like now’s the time. Whiskers McGee is calling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs* Historonic.com


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know this has been a long time coming! Sorry it took so long, I guess I've just been really caught up with life and stuff. I'm gonna try to start updating regularly again, but no promises. Anyways, thank you all so much. All your comments and kudoses and asks and bookmarks and everything just make me so dang happy (also make me feel a bit guilty, which then makes me write. haha)!!
> 
> Buuut yeah, here you go!

With said call from ‘Whiskers McGee,’ Kenma felt his face cooling. He wasn’t ready to come up with a lie to tell Akaashi to tell Kuroo. He wasn’t very ok with lying to Kuroo anyways. Still, the gentle buzzing of his phone was persistent, and he had two choices. He could either answer it and pray his stories would keep Kuroo satisfied, or leave it and prolong the anxiety. Despite the seizure in his chest, he pushed his phone towards Akaashi.  
“Tell him I’m at home. I’m uh… replaying Phantom Hourglass.” It was a believable enough lie. Kenma had beat it three times already, but it was still his favorite game.

Akaashi opened his mouth to ask how he should explain the slap, but Kenma had already hit the ‘answer’ button. Akaashi put the phone to his ear, trying to get into Kenma mode as much as possible. He was doing pretty well with the uncertainty rising in his throat. He coughed, “Hey.” 

“What’re you doing?” Kuroo’s voice was almost icey, unforgiving, as if he knew Kenma was about to lie to him. 

“I’m,” Akaashi stumbled over his words. Why was he having such trouble, “I’m at home. I’m replaying Phantom Hourglass.” 

“Oh,” Kuroo didn’t sound happy, “I guess your mom lied to me then.”

Akaashi blanched, eyes going to Kenma who was pressed against the other side of the phone so he could hear. He tried to keep himself steady, “What- what do you mean?” 

“I stopped by your house to see you, but your mom told me you’d left a little while ago.” He was lathering with angry sarcasm, “She shouldn’t have lied.” 

Kenma was very pale, eyes shut as he tried to work through a solution in his head. He was caught in his lie, ok, but he could still fix this, he could still come up with something that-.

“Is there something you wanna tell me, Kenma?” Kuroo cut him off. He sounded exhausted. He was probably scrubbing his face, “Because you can just say it. Don’t string me along like this.” 

Akaashi opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. He spoke before Kenma could give him direction. He was Akaashi fucking Keiji. He could handle Bokuto with ease, and Kuroo was more… well, normal. He could do this. “Can you meet me somewhere?” 

Kuroo was quiet for a long minute, as if he were mulling over the idea of saying no. Finally, he sighed, “I guess.” He waited a beat before asking, “Where?” 

Kenma’s eyes widened. He mouthed something to Akaashi. 

Akaashi was confused, but complied, “The pet store.” 

Kuroo’s response was a sardonic laugh. “You’re gonna take me back to our first date to break up with me?” 

“Break up with you?” Akaashi answered on his own again. He shook his head, “I’m not planning on breaking up with you. I just… I wanna talk.” 

He didn’t sound convinced, “Ok. I’ll be there in 20.” He hesitated, “And, Kenma?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you.” He didn’t give Kenma a chance to respond, hanging up as soon as the words were out of his mouth. 

Kenma was very white, a stark contrast to Oikawa’s chocolate brown hair. He dropped once again, groaning as he hit his forehead against the table. This had already been a long day, and was bound to get even longer. He genuinely wanted to scream, actually wanted to go to sleep and wake up normal again, but the insistent snickering of fucking Oikawa Tooru had other plans. He snapped up, voice tight and sharp, “Could you quit that out?” 

Oikawa shrugged, leaning back in his chair, “Can’t, sorry. Been told not to hold in my emotions.” He took the final sip of his water bottle, then crushed it with the annoying sound of thin water bottle plastic. “And, forgive me if I find your little situation pretty damn funny.” He turned, rounding on Akaashi, “Who actually smacks another person anyways.” He left no time for Akaashi to answer, “Actually, nevermind. You’re the loser who shaves his legs.” 

Akaashi gaped, feeling the familiar pool of irritation in his veins. He could respond, but his body was something that actually could get to him. He knew how to play dirty too, and, though he wasn’t proud of it, had a tongue like jagged glass. His words were light and casual, “Interesting. You call me a loser, but seem to forget your most recent match against Shiratorizawa.” Accompanying his words came a smug grin, though, in terms of comebacks, he had to admit that one was pretty lame. The burn sounded worse in his head. 

Kenma groaned, loudly enough to make sure he wasn’t forgotten. He picked his head up, hand reaching out to grab Akaashi by the arm, “You can play ‘who’s better than who’ later. Someone has to go meet my boyfriend, and, seeing as I’m his most hated person, it’s got to be you.”

Akaashi sighed, complying. He stood, only to freeze when he remembered something. He turned back to Oikawa, “You have date tonight,” he was actually pretty pissed he wasn’t going to be able to go, considering it was their one year anniversary. “Also, text him and tell him ‘Happy Anniversary’. He’ll probably want to have sex. Just tell him no and he’ll back off.”  
After fighting back vomit, Oikawa picked up Akaashi’s phone, typing in the quick words. He had genuine worry in his eyes, “What if he doesn’t?” 

At that, Akaashi regarded him with serious eyes, “What are you trying to imply about Bokuto? He isn’t like that.” 

Oikawa nodded, not quite soothed, but contented. 

Kenma tugged at Akaashi’s arm, feeling the tightness grow in his chest, “Come on,” he urged, “We can’t be late.” 

~~~

The pet store was a small, hole in the wall place, locally owned where the animals were in store. It had the distinct smell of animals, that is, their poop, and there were quite a few stray feathers here and there. The overall demeanor of the place was less than exuberant, but the barking puppies had their own charm. 

Kuroo got there first, and had spent his time petting the cats. A few whiskered lions meowed expectantly, as if Kuroo were going to spoil each one of them. He absolutely would if he could. His older sister was allergic to pet dander, so getting a kitten of his own was out of the question… at least, at the time being. 

Outside, Akaashi and Kenma stood, hunched together. Kenma was trembling, stumbling over his words repeatedly as he tried to communicate the plan. 

As far as Akaashi understood, he was to tell Kuroo that he had had a nightmare, and the smack was more out of fear than aggression. Kuroo had just left too fast for him to tell him that. 

It was am very pathetic lie, but Kenma was grasping at strings here. 

It wasn’t long before Akaashi stepped into the shop, the twinkling of a little bell signaling his entrance. Immediately, he made eyes with Kuroo who was holding a tiny orange tabby to his chest. He didn’t smile at him. 

“Uh, hey, Kuroo,” Akaashi mentally smacked himself for the sound of his voice. Kenma was talking to his boyfriend, he shouldn’t sound so damned nervous. 

Kuroo turned to put the kitten back in his cage. He didn’t look up, “Hey.” 

Akaashi found himself stifling a laugh. The big idiot was actually sulking. He looked just like Bokuto, except a smidge less dramatic. It pulled at Akaashi’s heart strings. 

“Are you laughing?” Kuroo stepped up to Kenma, nearly towering over him in height. His blood was at a light simmer. He wasn’t quite angry, but it was getting there. “Are you seriously laughing at me right now?” 

Akaashi’s eyes still twinkled with mirth as he forced the giggle down, “It’s, ah, it’s not at you,” he doubled over, unable to contain the laughter. It bubbled forth like a spring, and he doubted his ability to stop it. He managed to gasp out, “It’s the situation!” 

The simmer quickened into a boil. He reached down, grabbing Kenma’s arm with a little more force than he would have liked, “Kenma!” He kept his voice down, though it was pointed. “You smacked me! This isn’t a goddamned joke!” 

Akaashi felt far away. There was no way this could be happening. He was dreaming, had to be. This was just too damned ridiculous. The laughter remained, though it was slightly more contained, “I, uh,” he paused, trying to remember the lie. It was such a bad lie, “Oh! Um, I had had a bad dream, and it-” He stopped again, hiccuping a giggle, “It scared me! Yeah, you scared me!” Akaashi was positively giddy. He felt drunk. Perhaps he was finally having that breakdown. 

Kuroo let go of him, eyes wide in disbelief. He closed, face falling flat, though the flare in his nostrils suggested that wasn’t how he actually felt. “Goodbye, Kenma.” 

Akaashi gasped out a, “Huh~?” 

Kuroo shoved past him, voice tight, “I’ll talk to you at practice.” Kuroo pressed out the doors of the shop, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked out of sight. 

Akaashi was still giggly as he stepped out of the doors to where Kenma had been listening, ear pressed up against an air vent. 

Kenma was numb, completely, utterly numb. He was going to lose his best friend, the person he’d fought through childhood with, the person who had stood up to his bullies and helped through panic attacks. He was going to lose the one person who made him feel like he might actually be worth something. He rounded on Akaashi, feeling the tears hot on his cheeks. The numbness exploded. “How could you, Akaashi?!” 

Akaashi was still slightly dissociative. The fact that this was real life, and that he had just, quite possibly ruined his best friends relationship hadn’t quite hit him yet. He smiled at Kenma, “Isn’t this just so funny?” 

“No!” The tears kept rolling down his cheeks. He was too damn tall, looking down on his pathetic piece of shit self. He brought the heels of his hands up to try and quell the flow of tears. They refused to be stopped, slipping over his hands as his chest heaved with sobs. 

The guilt was like a ton of bricks slamming directly on Akaashi’s chest. He found the wind knocked out of him. What had he done? Why had he done it? Why did the world slip into a pink tinted funland where consequences didn’t matter until they did? He reached forward, taking Kenma’s wrist, “Look. I’m-”

“Don’t!” Kenma shoved him away, familiar seizing in his chest. It started eating at him, acid running through his veins that froze his muscles. He looked up at Akaashi, struggling with the effort to breathe, “Don’t talk to me.” He was quiet, only managing to get out words through several trembling breaths. 

“Kenma, I-”

“Akaashi!” He cut him off again, a new wave of sobs racking over his shoulders, “I said go!” 

After only one more moment of hesitation, Akaashi did as he was told, leaving one of his closest friends to deal with the pain he had caused him. He didn’t know where to go, but away seemed like a good option. 

Once alone, Kenma put his back to the brick wall, slowly sliding to sit on the dirty ground. He hugged his knees to his chest, and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this is totally voluntary, and it will have no effect on future chapters, but I uh... I do have a [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/user?u=4396817)
> 
> On that note, I don't own these characters! All rights to Shounen Jump!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! If you like my writing, check out some of my original stories featuring lgbt+ characters on my blog, right here: http://historonic.com/


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